Little Bird
by Brilliant Brunette Beauty
Summary: A collection of one-shots focusing on Damian, usually on his relationship with his father and brothers.
1. Running Away

**A/N: I threatened to make a Damian one-shot series, and I came through! So please enjoy!**

* * *

The sneaky ten year old slipping down the halls of Wayne Manor makes sure to keep from making any noise that may alarm anyone still sleeping in the surrounding rooms. He knows that Father is a light sleeper especially, and Alfred is constantly on alert. He doesn't want to alarm either of them. There can't be any interference. He knows what will happen if anyone catches him; he'll be sent back to his room, no doubt yelled at, and most likely locked in his room at night for each night to come until he's thirty.

Because he's not just wandering the halls or looking to get a midnight snack.

Damian Wayne is running away from home.

He quietly descends the stairs, his argument with his father still ringing in his ears from two whole days earlier. Remembering the words they exchanged still makes something ache deep in his chest, but he's trying to push his feelings aside. He's not running away because of some stupid _feelings_. No, that would be childish. He's running away because it would be the best for the whole family if he was no longer around to mess things up.

Father made that perfectly clear.

Damian walks through the living room, looking around at the grand house one last time. He must admit, he'll miss this place. It's been his home for quite some time. He got comfortable here, which he knows was a mistake. Because while it has been his _home, _he's never quite felt _at home _here.

He's never been a part of this family, not really. Father is the patriarch, Grayson is the golden boy, Todd is the wayward son, and even Drake cemented his place in the family before Damian came along. Damian has always felt like an outsider in this family. He was the one Father didn't choose. He feels like he constantly has to prove to everyone that he deserves to even _be _here.

And now he finally realizes… He doesn't.

Taking a quick trip to the kitchen, Damian grabs an apple for the road. He'll miss Pennyworth's cooking, but he'll have to manage. He'll find food somewhere, somehow. He always manages by himself. It's what he's always had to do.

But… He's always had a place to go before. He lived with Mother until the age of 10, then he was sent to live with Father. Sure, he's always been self-reliant and a loner, but he's never been on his own in theory. He always had a place to go back to, somewhere that provided him with food and shelter. Now his mother considers him an enemy, and his father…

Well, his father barely even tolerates him. And soon, he won't have to deal with him at all.

He really _doesn't _have anywhere to go. He has nowhere to belong. He's all alone in the world…

Damian shakes these thoughts out of his mind, exiting the kitchen after grabbing another apple for good measure and shoving it in his backpack. So what if he doesn't belong? He'll make his own family. He does just fine of his own. Yeah, he'll show them. He doesn't need any of them.

And apparently, they don't need him either.

His argument with Father keeps bouncing around in his head as he walks to the door, making his fists clench and unclench repeatedly.

"_When will you stop treating me like a damn child all the time?" Damian yelled._

"_When you stop acting like one!" his father yelled back. The two had been arguing for quite some time, but it seemed like Father was ready to end this argument once and for all. He looked at Damian and shook his head, seeming eerily calm for someone who had just exploded at him._

"_My life would be so much easier without you in it."_

The words cut Damian deeply still, two days after they were said. He's had time to think about them over and over, dissect them, ruminate on them, and let the hurt wash over him again and again until his already fragile self-esteem dissolved entirely. He can't believe he ever let him fool himself into believing his father could actually love him.

Love _him?_

A child made in a bio-tube, raised from birth to be a killing machine, and dumped on him suddenly when he didn't need nor want another child?

No one could ever love him.

It's a lesson taught to him when his mother declared him no longer her son, and a lesson his father taught to him a few days with his scathing words. He's not wanted, never was.

Silently, he reaches out for the door knob and twists it, being careful not to jiggle it too much and possibly alert anyone.

"Damian?"

Damian grips the door knob tightly and lowers his head, his body tensing up.

_Dammit. He's been caught._

He turns around on his heels swiftly, meeting the concerned gaze of none other than his father, Bruce Wayne himself, who wears a plain white t-shirt and lounge pants and scratches at his bed-head.

Dammit. He should have known that Father would wake up. He's Batman. Any small disturbance has him up and alert and ready for some action.

Father's eyes dart to the backpack over Damian's shoulder before they narrow in suspicion.

"Where are you going?" he asks, his tone calm and even.

At first, Damian considers lying. He could come up with something creative and believable. He's an expert at that. But… he feels so utterly defeated. What's even the point? Father doesn't really care about him. He takes care of him, sure, but only because he has to. He's a good man, he takes responsibility for his child, but he doesn't really want him here.

_My life would be so much easier without you in it._

"What does it matter?" Damian asks, meaning to sound confident, but his voice coming out strangled and weak. Damn. His emotions just keep betraying him.

The concern on Father's face intensifies, and he walks up to Damian, putting a hand on his shoulder.

"Son, it's late. You should go back to bed."

For a split second, Damian considers actually taking his father up on that offer. It would be so tempting to go back to his normal, day-to-day life, not worrying about where to go next, or where he'll get food, or how to survive with no one else around…

But his father's words will still haunt him.

The feeling of not quite belonging, just _being there_ in the background, will not fade.

He can't stay. Not when he's nothing but a burden.

"I-I can't," Damian replies, his voice shaking. "I'm doing you a favor. I'm doing you _all _a favor. I'm getting out of your hair for good."

Damian turns away, reaching for the doorknob again, but Father grabs his arm, stopping him short. Damian feels like screaming out in frustration. Why is he making this harder than it is? Doesn't he know how hard it is for him to be doing this? But it must be done.

"Son, what are you talking about?" his father asks, his eyes spilling over with concern for the shaking little ten year old in front of him. "Why would any of us want you to leave?"

Anger rises in the pit of Damian's stomach, and he turns to glare at his father. He really has to _ask? _After what he said a few days ago? He made it perfectly clear that Damian should leave, and here he is questioning it when he actually tries to follow his orders for once?

"I don't want to stay somewhere I'm not wanted," Damian hisses. Father's look goes from concerned to looking almost… pained? No, that couldn't possibly be it. But something about the look in his eyes goes straight through Damian.

"Of course you're wanted here," Father insists quietly. His hand doesn't move from Damian's shoulder as he speaks.

"Why would you think differently?"

Why would he think differently? _Why would he think differently? _Damian just can't take it anymore. A dam deep inside him just explodes, pouring over with unexpressed emotions that he's kept in since the day he and Father met. He barely even feels his eyes starting to wet as tears form in them.

"Because I don't belong here!" Damian shouts, twisting out of his father's grip. "I never have! Can't you see that? I'm not the son you want, and I never will be, no matter what you do. I'm an experiment, a killing machine, a burden that was passed on to you when you didn't need one. How can you even look at me and not be completely disgusted?"

Tears are pouring unchecked down his face by now, and his father stares at him with his mouth agape, not quite believing the words coming out of his son's mouth.

"Damian, don't say –,"

Damian interrupts his father's quiet words, shouting out again,

"I'm a _weapon_, Father. Just a weapon made for killing. And apparently I wasn't even a good enough weapon, because Mother doesn't want me either. I don't belong with the al Ghuls, I don't belong with the Waynes – I don't belong anywhere! I'm not the son you deserve, and I've done things…"

He looks down, tears starting to fall from his face and landing on the ground below him, forming a little group of droplets on the hardwood floor.

"Terrible, horrendous things… I killed without a second thought. I-I never even flinched. I just…"

He brings his hand up to stubbornly wipe the tears away, not daring to look at his father. He must be disgusted right now. Damian never shows weakness. He's always been afraid of his father's reaction if he did. Mother's was always violent. She beat the philosophy into him; you don't show weakness. Crying is out of the question. He always followed that. Until now…

He's a disgrace.

"How could I possibly be Robin when I'm worse than the people we fight?" Damian asks, his voice barely above a whisper. "I'm a disgrace to humanity, an experiment, a prototype, a _thing _made to get back at you. And I can't be here anymore knowing what I represent to you; nothing but a depraved eugenics experiment."

There's a suffocating silence when his father hears the words that he once used when Talia reminded him of the night Damian was conceived. The two of them met minutes later. He was probably unaware of the fact that Damian was nearby and heard the entire conversation. Well, the secret's out now.

"I didn't know you heard that," Father chokes out, sounding pained. "I'm sorry you did. And I hope you know that I don't think that."

Damian looks up at him, the tears shining in his eyes and blurring his vision.

"But don't you?" he asks, sounding both angry and heartbroken at the same time. "I'm the product of a non-consensual _drugging_, raised for ten years to be a cold-blooded killer, and then suddenly thrust into your hands. You didn't choose to be my father. Not like you did the others. You can't love me."

Damian looks away and says quietly, almost imperceptibly,

"No one can once they really get to know me."

A long silence passes between the two, neither of them moving from their spots. It's almost painful for Damian, having to stand there and have Father scrutinize him, no doubt internally criticizing how weak and pathetic he is.

"Son…" Father begins, sounding completely lost. Damian refuses to look at him. He doesn't want to face the look he's sure his father is wearing. He doesn't want to see the disappointment in his eyes.

However he doesn't have a choice. He feels Father grab his chin and tilt his head up to meet his gaze. He's crouched down slightly so he's more level with Damian, and he's gazing at him with an intense look in his sharp blue eyes, eyes that Damian shares with him. His gaze seems to pierce Damian's very soul. It's that intense.

"Damian, you are _not _a weapon. You're not an experiment, either. You're a person. You're my son. And I can promise you, I don't feel that way. I never have."

In response, Damian does his best to put on a face of cold disinterest. He ignores the tears, choosing to be angry instead of sad. It's his defense mechanism. Being angry is easier. It hurts less.

"Well, you didn't seem so sure of that just a few days ago," Damian snaps. Father's face twists in confusion for a few moments, trying to remember the importance of a few days ago. It seems to dawn on him eventually, his face falling, and his eyes filling with pain.

"Damian…"

"Stop wasting your breath," Damian hisses, rebuffing his father's hold on him. "All you have to do is just look away while I walk out the door, and you can say you didn't see me leave. I won't be around, and your life will be much less complicated without me here."

Father flinches when those words leave his mouth. _Good_.

Damian watches as Father slowly wraps one arm around his shoulder, swiftly bringing him closer. What is it that he's –

Damian doesn't have a chance to finish those thoughts before he's pressed against his father's chest, his strong arms surrounding him. His backpack falls to the ground with a thud. Damian remains completely stiff, not sure on what to do. He and his father don't hug. They just don't. They don't engage in spontaneous gestures of affection. That's not an aspect of their relationship, never has been. Hell, that wasn't an aspect of his relationship with his mother, either.

"I'm so sorry," Father whispers to him, sounding horrified with himself. "I'm so, so sorry. I didn't mean that at all. It was said in the heat of the moment. I was angry and too selfish and moronic to think about how much that would hurt you. There's not a day that goes by when I'm not grateful that I have you in my life. I wouldn't wish you weren't in it. I'd _never _want you to leave. I'm so sorry, Damian. I'm sorry I could ever make you feel this way."

Damian relaxes in his father's grip, practically melting against his chest. He's still angry, but his grief is taking over again, and he wants to seek comfort from _somewhere_.

"But why?" he whispers, the sound muffled by his father's broad chest. "Why do you keep me around? I disobey you, I break the rules, I've killed before, I –,"

"Hush, son," Bruce interjects, his hand snaking up to pet Damian's hair. Damian burrows himself further into his father's hold, secretly liking the feeling he gets. He feels protected, warm, safe…

_Loved._

"You want to know why I keep you around?" Father whispers to him. "I keep you around because you're my son, Damian. You've made mistakes before in the past, but you're trying so hard to be a good Robin, and you're trying even harder to be a good son. I don't care how you were conceived. You're still my child, and I'd treat you as such no matter what the circumstances of your birth were."

Damian tries to keep his emotions under control, but tears are spilling freely from his eyes, no matter how much he tries to stop it. _That's weakness, _he keeps telling himself. _Man up. You've trained with the League of Assassins. When did you become such a wimp? _

He presses up against his father's shirt, letting the tears be absorbed by the material.

"There is nothing you could ever do or be that could ever make me stop loving you."

That's when Damian finally breaks. He wraps his arms around Father's neck, holding on tightly as he sobs. His father has _never _told him he loves him. Grayson always told him that Father was just bad at expressing emotions, and Damian accepted that, but something about it ate away at him. He didn't realize how much he needed that until just now. He really did need it. He needed that validation, something that confirms that he's worth something to his father.

_He's worth something._

Maybe he _does _belong here. Maybe he _does _have a family.

He allows Father to pick him up and carry him up the stairs, clinging to his neck with his face buried in his broad chest.

The backpack stays sitting by the front door, long forgotten by both father and son.

* * *

**A/N: For any of you guys who are wondering, I'm not moving my other Damian one-shots over to here. They already have their own reviews, their own follows, and their own favorites. I'm not going to remove them and confuse people.**

**In case you're wondering, the Damian one-shots that I wrote before are called Forgive Me Son, For I Have Sinned, Like Father, Like Son, and You Are Loved.**

**I hope you enjoyed, and know that I'll be back with more!**


	2. Damian Has a Girlfriend?

**A/N: Since my last one-shot was pretty heavy, I decided to write a light one. Ladies and gentlemen...**

**Read as Dick Grayson tries to get a fifteen year old Damian to admit he has a girlfriend.**

* * *

"C'mon, Dami –"

"No, Grayson!"

"Just admit it!"

"I won't admit to something that isn't true, you fool."

"Oh, you know it's true. So just admit it. The truth will set you free, little brother."

"It is _not true!_"

The argument between the two brothers has been going on for days now. Almost a week. Damian is resistant, but Dick Grayson is on a mission, and he will not stop until he gets the desired outcome.

He's going to get Damian to admit to having a girlfriend.

The tell-tale signs have been there, alright. Going out more frequently, being more secretive, making an effort to look nicer, freaking out when people snoop around his room…

If Damian doesn't have a girlfriend, then he's a male escort. Dick can think of no other explanation.

So he's going with the first one. It sounds nicer.

Really, he should have seen this coming. Damian is fifteen now. He's a Wayne, meaning he has the Wayne charm hidden under those anti-social tendencies. Dick thought that those anti-social tendencies would give him at least a few more years before his little brother got a girlfriend, or even a crush, but he supposes that was just wishful thinking. The boy's a teenager, he has hormones.

Okay, bad image. He's just going to assume that Damian is a virgin.

"Grayson, you are being ridiculous," the teen insists, swiftly grabbing an apple and heading out of the kitchen. Dick follows him, unrelenting.

"C'mon, Little D, even _you _have to admit that you've been acting weird lately."

Damian merely shrugs and takes a bite of his apple, snatching the car keys off the side table on his way to the front door.

"So?" he fires back. "Is it so bad that I like to have my privacy? Is _nothing _sacred in this house?"

Dick smirks. Privacy? He thinks _that _is the biggest tip-off? More like #865 on a list of tip-offs.

"Oh, and I suppose going out constantly and refusing to tell anyone where you're going is about privacy, too?"

Damian glares at him, knowing that he doesn't have a proper response for that. It's true. He hasn't been telling anyone where he's going. He gets defensive each time someone asks.

"That's nothing, Grayson," he growls. Dick is just amused by how heavily Damian is guarding his whereabouts.

"Oh, really?" Dick begins playfully. "In that case, where are you going right now?"

Damian looks down at the keys in his hands, then back up at Dick. The look on his face is pure murder, like he's been caught in a trap.

"To see a friend," he says through gritted teeth. Dick smiles and decides to draw this out a little bit longer, just to see his little brother squirm. He'll get that confession soon enough.

"Really? Who?"

Damian seems to gain back some confidence, standing up straight and regarding Dick tensely,

"Colin. Who else?"

Dick grins and takes out his cell phone from his pocket.

"So, if I called him right now…"

Damian shakes his head vehemently, suddenly looking stricken at the thought of his older brother calling his best friend.

"No! It's a, um, surprise. He doesn't know I'm on my way!"

Dick reluctantly puts his phone away. Dammit, he was sure he would get a confession out of Damian today. He's waited long enough. But he underestimated the little twerp. He hasn't been broken just yet. He'll just have to try again tomorrow.

"Fine, you can go," he grumbles unhappily. Damian smirks at the small victory and brushes past him, walking out the door to go hop on his motorcycle. Dick shakes his head.

He'll get the truth out of him _somehow._

* * *

"So, Damian, is _Colin _the reason you're going out with cologne on?"

Damian turns to glare at his brother, half-way through finishing his oat cereal that Alfred demanded he eat before he left the house this morning.

"Shut it, Grayson."

Dick grins. He can practically feel Damian's resistance wearing down each day. Dick is getting under his skin more than he'll admit. Soon, he'll be forced to admit to this secret girlfriend of his.

Even if Dick ends up with a katana to the spleen because of it.

* * *

"Who ya talking to there, Dami?"

Damian takes the phone away from his ear and covers the receiver with his palm, turning to Dick with a stone-hard glare.

"No one," he hisses. Dick rolls his eyes with a dopey grin on his face.

"Suuurrrreeeee, I'll believe that."

Damian just snorts and puts the phone back up to his ear, turning away from him and walking out of the living room to continue with his call in private.

Making Damian crack is proving harder than he thought, and Dick is mighty disappointed in himself. He was trained by the World's Greatest Detective, dammit. Shouldn't he be able to figure out who it is that his little brother is spending so much time with? Must he resort to stalking him?

Besides, Timmy is the stalking expert in this family, not him.

Groaning, he plops himself down on the couch next to Bruce, who reads his newspaper, ignoring the scene his children are causing.

"Your son will be the death of me," Dick groans dramatically. Though he's not looking at Bruce's face, he swears he can just _sense _the eye-roll coming from that man.

"Dick, you're overreacting. I already told you, Damian doesn't have a girlfriend."

Really? Is Dick the only one in this house that can see clearly? Even Alfred told him that this was all nonsense. No one seems to notice Damian's obvious change in behavior except him. It's like they all think he's just going through a teenage phase.

Yeah, right. Damian's had the mentality of a thirty year old since he was ten. He doesn't go through 'teen angst'.

"Of course he has a girlfriend! All the signs are there. He's not acting like himself lately at all. He's hiding something, or some_one_. It's gotta be a girlfriend."

Bruce sets down his newspaper and looks over at his oldest son, his eyes challenging and seeping with annoyance.

"I'll tell you what," he offers, his voice vaguely smug. "If you find out Damian has a girlfriend, I owe you… Say, $100."

Dick regards him carefully before snorting at the low price.

"The billionaire can't spare more?"

Bruce gives him the 'look', and suddenly Dick regrets talking back to his ex-mentor. Didn't he learn that was a no-no when he was ten and running around in green scaly panties?

"Most people would bet $5. In this family, the average wager is $100. I'm not raising it."

A chance to prove to Bruce that their baby bird is finally growing up? That's not something to pass up. He extends his hand with a wide grin gracing his face.

"Deal."

* * *

"Don't touch anything, alright?"

"But Dami, this is _so cool!_"

Damian rolls his eyes at Irey West. For the first time since he met the vivacious speedster, he's brought her down into the Bat Cave. Father is gone on League business, and the rest of the house is empty for today. It's the perfect time to sneak her in and show her the place where he spends so much time.

"I've never seen something so cool!" she continues, her red ponytail bouncing as she walks around, examining every inch of the forbidden room.

Damian chuckles at her curiosity. It's just one of the things he loves about her. She questions everything because she wants to _know _everything there is to know. Otherwise, she feels like she's missing out. It's endearing.

"Wow, where did he get that? That computer set is certainly something. Oh! Is that Jason's old suit from –,"

Damian cuts her off by pressing a swift kiss to her lips. She immediately shuts up with a small squeak and gets a dopey look on her face. Damian resists the urge to laugh. She looks like her father when she wears that look…

He immediately shakes that thought out of his head. He doesn't want to think about Wally West when he's spending time with his girlfriend, who just happens to be the daughter Mr. West is so overprotective of.

"You talk too much," he comments with a grin. She blushes and looks down, nodding.

"Yeah, I do," she admits. "But don't act like you don't love it."

He laughs and slips his arm around her waist, tugging her closer to him. An even heavier blush spreads across her freckled cheeks, and he laughs. He's always loved that about her. She's so innocent. He's _never _been innocent, coming into the world a killer. He likes that she balances him out. He feels like the two of them were just made for each other.

"I suppose I can tolerate it…" he teases. She rolls her eyes and slaps him lightly on the chest.

"Just like I can tolerate your extreme stubbornness," she responds, leaning her head on his chest. He chuckles and lays his head on top of hers. The two don't get many moments like this. He cherishes the peace and quiet, the feel of her body against his, and that weird feeling he always gets in his chest when the two are together.

He has yet to figure out what exactly that feeling is.

Irey tilts her head up, her eyes catching his. He smiles warmly down at her. Slowly, she leans up, her head tilting. He starts leaning down to meet her halfway –

"_I knew it!_"

The two teenagers spring apart as if they've just been shot at, looking around for the source of the shout. They're both blushing like mad, ashamed to be caught in the middle of such an intimate moment.

Damian's eyes dart to the stairs, and he nearly blows up at what he sees.

Grayson stands leaning on the bars of the stairs, grinning from ear to ear.

"Grayson!" Damian shouts angrily, his fists clenching. Grayson just laughs at his anger and waves to Irey, whom he knows very well. Damian can only imagine how she feels. She was caught by her father's best friend. It's like being caught by family.

"I knew you had a girlfriend!" he exclaims, his face glowing with happiness. He's so ridiculously giddy about this that Damian wonders just how obsessed he was with proving that his little brother had a girlfriend. It's like this is a personal victory for him.

"Grayson, you're such a freak."

He laughs at Damian's insult, still clearly amused at the entire scene.

"Don't worry, you two! I won't tell Bruce or Wally. Your secret's safe with me, you love birds!"

Irey breathes a sigh of relief, while Damian lets out a little huff at being called a 'love bird'. The last thing either of them wanted was their fathers prying into their love lives. The embarrassment would never fade.

Damian tries to imagine the two of them finding out that their children are dating…

He shudders. They'd probably end up giving them both a stern lecture and before trying to intimidate their respective child's significant other. It would turn ugly _fast_.

"Thank you, Uncle Dick!" Irey exclaims. Damian finds it a tad bit unsettling that she still refers to him as 'Uncle', but he lets it slide.

"I guess I owe you, Grayson," he mutters unhappily. Irey giggles at his tone and waves to Grayson as he leaves the couple to go back upstairs.

"Use protection!" Grayson shouts before he leaves the vicinity. Both teens go bright red, looking at the ground. Damian feels his cheeks heat up.

Did Grayson really assume…?

No, he's probably just messing with them.

"So…" Damian begins, breaking the silence. Eliminating the maddening space between them, he places his hands on her hips and pulls her closer to him. She blushes, a small grin on her face.

"Where were we?"

* * *

_One week later…_

"Hey, Bruce?"

Bruce looks up from his file to see Dick standing over him, smiling smugly as if he knows the secret to the universe. He doesn't like that look. Not at all.

"Yes, Dick?"

He watches in confusion as Dick extends his hand, looking at Bruce expectantly. What is it that he wants from him?

"I'll be collecting my $100 now."

… _Shit._

* * *

**A/N: TADA! I packed on the cuteness because I could.**

**I don't have strong opinions about the SpeedDemon ship, but then again, I ship Damian with whoever. I ship him with Lian Harper, too.**

**I mean, hey, they're both dead!**

**... I'm going to Hell for that joke.**

**But if you want to see any other Damian romance, just tell me.**


	3. Blood Brothers

**A/N: This came from a request I had.**

**So, please enjoy this one-shot about Damian and Tim. :)**

* * *

There are many things Red Robin can't stand.

Stupidity, a mess in his room, someone not following his orders, and tardiness are among many other things that get under the young hero's skin.

But if he must pick something that bothers him more than anything else in this world, then he wouldn't even hesitate before picking out that one thing that grates on his nerves like nothing else.

The demon spawn.

_Damian._

He absolutely cannot stand his adopted father's son. Not in the least. The two didn't exactly get off to a good start, what with Damian trying to kill him and all. The two can barely be in the same room for 5 minutes without being at each other's throats.

So it's just his luck that the two of them are stuck patrolling together while Batman and Nightwing investigate a major drug deal going down. Batman sent the two of them off to deal with some of the thugs that will be left over prowling around the city while he and his oldest protégé deal with the problem more directly.

Of course, both Red Robin and the demon brat put up quite the fight. Neither wanted to be stuck on patrol with the person they hate most. Some words were exchanged when Batman informed them of the plan, and long story short, they're most likely both grounded when they get home.

The teen turns over and looks at the ten year old sulking next to him. They're supposed to be on the look-out for any suspicious activity, but he highly doubts they'll see anything if they're too busy glaring at the each other when the object of their hatred isn't looking.

"See anything?" Red Robin asks.

"No," Robin snaps back, sounding annoyed.

Great. He has an annoyed demon spawn on his hands. It's bad enough he has to spend some quality alone time with him in a setting where his death could easily be framed to look accidental, but on top of that, the kid is pissed.

Joy.

"Why don't you make yourself useful and look harder?" Robin suggests condescendingly, smirking arrogantly at his adopted brother. Red Robin feels his blood boil. He doesn't know why everything the boy says gets to him so much. But he just feels like reaching out and punching him in his smug little face.

"Focus on the scene," Red Robin hisses, turning away from the infuriating ten year old next to him. He rolls his eyes and tries his hardest to focus on the task at hand. Damian is aggravating, but Tim won't let him distract him from his job. He was given a task, and some kid isn't going to make him sloppy.

A figure passes through Tim's peripheral vision, skating by and then vanishing. He turns to the source of the vision, narrowing his eyes. What was that? It looked suspiciously like a human form…

"What is it?" Robin asks, elbowing Red Robin in the stomach.

"I thought I saw something…" he answers absentmindedly. Whoever it was, they're gone now. He shakes his head. Turning his head around slowly.

"We should get off this roof so we can better –,"

He stops cold, standing up with one hand on his utility belt. Robin looks at him oddly, turning around himself.

A haggard, unkempt looking man stands pointing a gun at the two with a twitching hand, flipping back and forth between the two young sidekicks.

"Stay still," the man orders shakily. Red Robin slowly takes his hand away from his belt, sensing the man's jumpiness and anxiety. Any sudden or even slight movements might cause him to pull the trigger.

"Just calm down," Red Robin says quietly. Subtly, he scoots towards Robin, intending to shield him should worst come to worst. He can't be responsible for the death of the demon brat, no matter how much he hates him. So he'll just keep Robin covered while he swiftly disarms the criminal. Simple.

But Robin has different plans.

Out of nowhere, a batarang goes flying at the assailants face, just barely brushing his cheek. He lowers the gun, cursing silently, before turning and fleeing down the roof's ladder, escaping from the two heroes.

Red Robin turns to glare at his younger 'brother'. How impulsive and idiotic can the kid be?

"Don't do that again," he growls, turning to run after the fleeing criminal. He hears Robin's footsteps following behind as he climbs down the ladder.

"Don't tell me what to do!" Robin snaps back. Tim ignores him, sprinting in the direction that the armed man took. He wishes more than anything that Robin wouldn't follow, but the stubborn kid is running with him, taking out another batarang and gripping it tightly as they go.

"If this is gonna work, you're gonna have to do what I say!" Tim yells at him while running. "You're one stupid decision away from getting yourself killed."

Robin responds by purposefully bumping Red Robin into the brick wall when they turn a sharp corner. Red Robin stumbles a bit before getting back on track, seething at Robin. He's always known that the kid was spiteful and vindictive, but he never thought he'd go so far as to shove him during a mission. It's unprofessional and childish.

That little brat.

Growling, Red Robin recovers quickly and follows their target, darting around the streets. Damn, he's fast for a common drug dealer. At least, that's what Tim is assuming. It could be an isolated incident, but he doubts it. The street is supposedly crawling with scum awaiting the arrival of Batman and Robin coming in to bust up their plan.

They follow the man into a decrepit, leaking alley way, leaving him cornered. Red Robin and Robin approach him as he backs up against the crumbling brick wall, looking around in a panic as he realizes he has nowhere to run. Red Robin smirks.

Hook, line, and sinker.

"Just come with us quietly and you won't be hurt in any way," Red Robin tells the criminal, walking towards him with Robin on his tail. He quietly prays that Robin will behave and not jump into anything, but he doubts he'll get his wish. The kid is infuriating. Why is he even here? Tim doesn't need him. Not at all.

The assailant steps forward, like he's giving up. Red Robin's head perks up. Was it really that easy?

Then, suddenly, he takes one step back and the entire shaky, nervous act drops. He stands up straight, his face looking smug with a smirk stretched across his lips.

"_I _won't be hurt, but I wouldn't be so sure about _you_," he declares, making a show of tilting his head over to look beyond Red Robin's head.

Tim turns around quickly, his hand on his utility belt, ready to pull out his collapsible bo staff.

But it's too late.

The whole thing seems to go in slow motion. Tim sees the man put his foot forward, like a pitcher about to throw a ball. He watches as the bullet rips out of the barrel of the gun. And he watches as it comes right at him, its course set on his head.

_So this is it_, he thinks in shock.

_This is how I die._

The entire thing seems to take hours instead of a millisecond, Tim's thoughts being scattered everywhere. He closes his eyes and prepares to feel the bullet rip through his brain, killing him instantly.

When it doesn't come 3 seconds later, Tim knows something's terribly wrong.

Opening his eyes, he finds that the man who shot at him is still standing at the end of the alley way, but he's looking down at Tim's feet with a smug smirk on his face.

Tim's heart drops. If he wasn't shot, there's only one other explanation…

He looks down at his feet, nearly screaming in horror at the sight before him.

Damian lays at his feet, curled up into a painful ball, his hands pressed down on his stomach. The area he's pressing down on is soaked with dark red blood that grows larger by the second. His mouth is forming a small 'o' as he tries not to cry out from the pain, and his body is stiffer than a board. Tim gives a small yelp of surprise and kneels down to attend to the injured boy.

Damian took a bullet for him.

The person he hates most and who hates _him _most willingly risked his life for him.

He'd rather he had died than to see Damian die right in front of him. Especially from a bullet meant for him.

"Robin, Robin, stay with me!" he commands, desperately pressing down on the bloody wound. Robin grits his teeth in response and hisses at his concerned partner,

"T-Take c-care of t-the sc-scum."

Tim gets the message. And with the rage boiling in him, he's more than willing to break a few bones. Grabbing his bo staff out of his belt, he stretches it out and reaches out to knock first man's feet out from under him. He falls down with a thud, groaning and cursing. Hitting him a few more times for good measure, he decides to deal with the other one. The man who tried to kill him.

Before Tim can turn around, he hears the click of a bullet being locked into the chamber.

"Robin and Red Robin, together again in death," the man taunts. Tim glares at him, forming a protective shield around Damian's little body and awaiting the bullet that was meant for him in the first place.

"Stay _away _from them," a deep, gravelly voice booms.

Tim sighs in relief as a dark shadow descends upon the armed man, kicking him against a brick wall.

_Batman has finally arrived_.

Nightwing follows close behind, kicking the man in the side and sending him flying to the ground. Seeing that Nightwing has the situation handled, Batman turns his attention to his sons.

Then stops dead in his tracks when he sees the state Damian's in.

Tim looks up at his adopted father, fear in his eyes. He just wants Batman to make this okay, to magically heal Damian and make it so it wasn't Tim's fault that this happened in the first place. He feels so stupid now. All that time he spent hating Damian and fighting with him, and for what? What if he dies tonight? What will Tim do then?

Who will he argue with? Who will he tease and roll his eyes at? Who will he exchange insults with?

_Who will be his little brother?_

Batman walks towards them slowly, reaching out to take his youngest son in his arms. The fear is obvious on his face, the age lines becoming more evident than ever from his worry. He always seems to be much older than he really is in situations like these, like he's carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

He looks almost as afraid as Tim feels.

Tim's reluctant to release a heavily-breathing Damian into his father's arms. Batman has to practically pry his youngest son out of Tim's shaking arms to take a look at him. Tim looks down at his shaky hands. Covered in blood.

Damian's blood.

His hands start shaking even harder.

His brother's blood. It's on his hands in more ways than one.

He's unaware of when it is that Nightwing came up behind him and put his hands on his shoulders, but he doesn't care.

All he cares about is the fact that he's the reason Damian is lying in his father's arms, coughing up blood as backup is radioed in.

He may have caused his brother's death.

_His brother._

* * *

Tim watches from a distance as Bruce sits at Damian's bedside, holding his hand and stroking his hair almost automatically. Like it's an instinct to him. He looks exhausted, his hair going every which way and his clothes wrinkled. He hasn't slept since it happened.

And Damian hasn't woken up since.

Doctor Tompkins said he'd be okay after she worked on him, but Tim still feel uneasy. He can't stop thinking about what happened. Every time he closes his eyes, he can hear the gunshot ring out and see Damian collapsed at his feet, a bullet in his stomach and his eyes wide with pain.

He can't stop thinking of all the things he never said to Damian. And all the things that have been said that he wishes he could take back.

He almost had that chance taken away from him.

If Damian had died, he would have _never _forgiven himself.

"Bruce, maybe you should take a shower or something," Tim suggests, rubbing at his tired eyes. He's tired too, but Bruce needs a break more than he does. He hasn't even eaten yet today.

Bruce looks back at Tim, his eyes seeming just a bit red. He nods reluctantly, almost robotically, letting go of Damian's hand and taking his hand off his son's head.

"I will…" Bruce agrees, mentally distracted. He nods and stands up, turning to Tim and gesturing to the empty seat.

"Will you take my place for a while?" he asks. Tim's tempted to say no, still feeling guilty about the events of the day before. How could he be there, right next to Damian, looking at him and knowing that he took his place on that bed? Knowing that he should be the one injured instead of his younger brother?

But, Tim finds himself nodding, slipping into Bruce's large, comfy rocking chair as Bruce leaves the room.

Now it's just Tim and an unconscious Damian in the room.

Tim looks down at the younger boy's limp form. His face is pale and his forehead is lightly beaded with sweat. His hair is matted and askew. In short, he looks terrible.

The guilt just piles on further. It should be Tim in that bed. He shouldn't have let Damian take that bullet for him. It was his fault for freezing and screwing up. He should have protected Damian. That's his _job_. Bruce and Dick appointed him as Damian's protector. They _trusted _him. They gave him a job to do.

It's his job to protect his family.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he reaches out and brushes Damian's coal black hair out of his face, smoothing it back like a mother would do to a sick child. He wipes the sweat away from his forehead carefully, stroking his cheek with the back of his hand.

He smiles slightly, feeling just a bit better. He won't let this happen again.

"I'll keep you safe, Damian," he promises softly. "I promise."

He continues attending to Damian, wiping away the sweat on his face and sweeping his hair back. That is, until he hears a small voice peep up,

"Just like I did for you."

* * *

**A/N: I have to admit, I love Tim and Damian bonding of any sort. I just can't get enough of those two.**

**I'm going to write some sort of continuation of the whole Dami and Irey thing sometime since it seems like that's what a lot of you want. Be patient with me; I'm in school, so I don't have a lot of time on my hands. :)**


	4. Secrets and Scars

**A/N: So this one is a _bit _dark. Not too dark, and maybe even a little fluffy. Okay, let's just say it's a hurt/comfort one.**

**Summary: Bruce finds out a secret Damian has been keeping.**

* * *

It's been a long, hard night.

Just like every other night in Gotham, but this night is even worse than usual somehow. Bruce is exhausted, and he can see that Damian is too. His young son is leaned up against the car seat, his eyes half closed in exhaustion and just a little bit of pain. He can see it in Damian's features; the way his teeth are clenched just a bit, the way his face is tense and the corners of his mouth a stretched, the way his eyes are getting heavier.

Damian was injured during patrol tonight.

He knows the stubborn boy will probably insist upon patching himself up, but Bruce wants to look over his injuries first just to make sure it's nothing too serious. Usually he just asks Damian where he's injured and helps him accordingly – well, when Damian _lets him _help, that is – but tonight, he's not too sure Damian will even tell him that he's injured. He's trying too hard to conceal the pain on his face and act like he's perfectly okay. Bruce can see through the façade. He usually can when it comes to Damian. For all his stubborn tendencies, the boy is only 10 years old.

The two get out of the car and enter the cave, taking off their mask and cowl, respectively. Bruce notices Damian walking stiffly to the med bench, grabbing some antiseptic on his way. Bruce frowns. Does Damian really not him trust him enough to come to him for help dressing his wound? It stings just a bit, and causes even more frustration. The boy never seems to accept his help.

"Damian, can I help you with that?" Bruce asks from across from him. He's in the process of getting out of his uniform, the top half already off and his white undershirt revealed, while his son is doing the same.

Damian shakes his head stubbornly, just as Bruce predicted.

"No, I can do it myself."

Bruce isn't convinced at all. His son still has that tense, pained look on his face, like he's trying to keep from crying out. Ignoring Damian's protest, he walks towards him and begins to help him in removing his Robin gear. Damian responds by scooting away from his father defensively, a scowl indented on his young features.

"I can take care of myself," he growls lowly. "I'm not a baby."

Bruce gives a grunt of frustration at his difficult son. Can't the boy ever take a little break from being bull-headed and let Bruce just act the part of the concerned father for once? He always has to be hard to handle. It's frustrating.

Bruce gives Damian the 'look'. It's not exactly a glare, but it's a face that makes it clear that Damian is not getting his way. Not tonight. Bruce is going to give him a look over whether he likes it or not. Luckily, Damian seems to get the message, grumbling while handing Bruce the antiseptic.

"I have a cut on my side," he grumbles. Bruce feels like he's won a small victory. At least Damian isn't refusing him like he expected him to. It's small, but it's something. Maybe he's finally getting through to him…

He doubts it.

"Okay, take off your uniform," Bruce orders. He notices something flash in Damian's eyes briefly. He doesn't quite know what it is, but it's gone as quickly as it came and he obediently strips down to his undershirt. Bruce waits patiently, but Damian makes no other move.

"You're going to have to take off your shirt, son," Bruce informs the boy. This earns him a glare from his son. What did he do wrong? All he's trying to do is tend to his son's wound.

He figures he should just give up on trying to figure Damian out.

Hesitantly, Damian raises the side of his undershirt, revealing the tanned skin of his stomach and left side. Bruce doesn't know why Damian didn't just take off his shirt. It's easier for him to attend to the wound that way. But, he doesn't bother questioning his son's eccentricities and just looks for the wound.

He expected to see a longer scratch. Maybe a short scratch, but deeper. Something that would definitely cause Damian the amount of pain he seems to be suffering.

But, instead, Bruce finds a minor scrape on his lower torso, one barely worth any recognition. That couldn't have been what Damian was so agonized over. It's too minor. There has to be something else.

Bruce quickly swipes the wound with some antiseptic and slaps a bandage over it, calling it good. He's not quite done yet, though.

"Damian, take off your shirt. I need to look you over to see if everything is okay."

Damian stiffens, looking up into his father's eyes. Bruce is shocked to see what looks like fear reflected back in them. Why would Damian be afraid? Is it him he's afraid of?

_No, _Bruce thinks. _My own son can't be afraid of me._

"Son, please take off your shirt," Bruce asks again, gentler this time. Much to his disappointment, Damian shakes his head vehemently, scooting away from his father's hand.

"No," he insists weakly.

Bruce frowns and reaches forward, grabbing onto the end of Damian's under-shirt. He's done dancing around. He's going to find out what it is that Damian is hiding. Quickly and swiftly, he begins pulling up Damian's shirt.

He stops short when Damian whimpers like a kicked puppy, trying to remove Bruce's hand.

"Father, no," he pleads weakly. "Please stop. Father, _please –_,"

"Hey, shhh, it's okay, son," Bruce reassures Damian, gathering the shaking boy up in his arms. "It's just me. I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."

All of Bruce's frustration and agitation quickly goes out the window, replaced with shock and concern. Damian seems to be on the edge of a full-blown panic attack. Bruce is lost on what to do. Does he comfort him? Does he continue to try and see his injury? Does he leave it alone?

Although seeing Damian so terrified makes his heart ache, he comes to the decision that giving him the proper medical attention is the best thing for him. Gently, he pushes Damian's shirt up, taking it off him and putting it to the side. Damian immediately tries to curl up, like he's feeling exposed. Bruce gently brings him closer, turning him over to inspect his back.

He's not prepared for the sight he faces.

Old scars cover the tanned skin on Damian's back, marring it with faded pink lines. It looks like a battlefield, like the mountains on a raised map. They intersect each other, some long and some short. But he can't seem to find a place on his skin that doesn't have a scar running through it. Finally, he sees the source of the discomfort. One of the scars has opened up somehow, oozing with blood that drips down his backside.

Bruce is horrified. How did he not notice this before? How did he not know his son suffered through something so… so horrific and unspeakable? Of course, he knew about Damian's background and training, but he didn't know about _this_. Why would he be abused in this way? His training wasn't designed to be torture.

It makes sense now. Why Damian never seems to be without some sort of undershirt. Why he insists on tending to certain wounds himself. Why it seems like the only wounds he ever suffers are below his waist. He went to extra lengths to hide this.

And it breaks Bruce's heart.

"Damian," Bruce begins, his voice strained with barely concealed anger and mental anguish. "Who did this to you?"

Damian hunches over, his head down and his eyes glued to the floor that he's taken a sudden interest in.

"This was how I was punished," he whispers. "When I was bad, I got another one."

Bruce feels instantly sick. His stomach lurches and he feels as though he's going to vomit. He doesn't even want to _begin _to imagine how Damian got those, though he can think of a few ways. It looks like it was most likely done by a whip.

_A whip_.

Of all the barbaric, inhumane ways to punish someone, Talia and the League of Assassins chose a _whip_. Of freaking course. Bruce's blood boils at the thought. He wants nothing more than to take a whip to everyone responsible for this and see how _they _like being tortured and humiliated.

Feeling Damian's arm shake underneath his hand brings Bruce back to reality. He has an emotionally damaged boy on his hands. He can store the anger for later, right now he's going to let his concern and sadness take over.

Gently pulling Damian close to him, he begins cleaning the wound, cringing when he hears Damian hiss through his teeth at the pain. He hates doing this. He hates seeing Damian in pain. But he knows that Damian will just be in even more pain and risk infection. So he just gives his son a comforting back rub while attending to his open wound.

Afterwards, Damian lays his head on Bruce's lap as Bruce rubs his side soothingly, brushing the hair out of his face with his other hand. Damian has settled down, no longer shaking or panicking. But his face is still red from embarrassment.

"Do you think less of me?" he asks quietly, sounding scared of the answer. Bruce looks down at his tiny son, stroking his side reassuringly and shaking his head. That's the last thing Bruce wants him to think. If anything, he thinks Damian is _brave _for having withstood this for 10 years. He wants to beat himself up over not knowing about Damian for so long. He's hated himself for it before, but now that feeling is even stronger. Now he knows what Damian faced because Bruce wasn't around to save him.

He's his father. He should always be around to save him. Isn't that how it works? Aren't fathers supposed to be heroes in their children's eyes?

"I could _never _think less of you," Bruce whispers fiercely, collecting Damian closer. "You're my boy. My strong, brave little boy. And no amount of scars are going to change that."

Damian relaxes, practically melting into his father's embrace, his eyelids fluttering closed. Tonight was exhausting and he's even more tired from the blood he's lost. Bruce picks him up and places him on his lap. A sad smile stretches across his lips as he stands up with his boy in his arms, carrying him off to bed.

It's been a long, hard night.

* * *

**A/N: Most incarnations of Talia would _never _do this.**

**But it would be hard to convince me that Grant Morrison's Talia _didn't _do this at some point.**

**I like Talia when she's not written by Grant Morrison. Damn you, Morrison.**

**Anyways, I hope you enjoyed, and please tell me what you thought.**


	5. The First Kill

**A/N: So this is a much darker fic than my usual.**

**This is a fic about Damian's first kill.**

**This one is much shorter than usual, but it's the type of fic that should be short.**

**Be warned: Damian angst.**

**Also, Talia is occasionally referred to as 'Mama', so Damian is about 6 years old at this time.**

**Enjoy!**

* * *

His first kill was nothing special.

Nothing he wasn't trained to handle, anyways.

By now, he's had extensive weapons training, more than enough hand-to-hand combat training, and training in countless other areas including various fine arts. He'd nearly mastered them all at the age of 6. And finally, after years of training with slaughtering animals and attacking stuffing filled dummies, his mother had given him his biggest task yet.

Ending a human life.

The woman – one of his teachers – was placed in front of him, her hands tied behind her back and a gag stuffed in her mouth. Even at such a young age, Damian could clearly see the fear shining in her gray-blue eyes. Her pale face was red and puffy, streaked with tears both dried and new. She looked pitiful groveling at a child's feet.

Something in the pit of Damian's stomach hurt, like he had swallowed a rock. He didn't know why, but this didn't feel right. It didn't feel like a game, as all of Mama's tasks before this had been. He wanted to tell his mother 'no', but he knew that he couldn't. She just wanted what was best for him, right?

And when the sword was placed at his feet with instructions to slice it through his old instructor's throat, it felt even more wrong to him. He had gotten rather attached to this particular instructor – his art instructor. She had been encouraging, sympathetic even. She told him he was a natural at art and sketching. Damian had grown to enjoy her company and looked forward to their lessons.

But then Damian grew proficient enough at art to please his mother, which meant this teacher had to go.

Just like the others.

But Mama noticed how this teacher had grown on him. So she decided that this was the perfect opportunity to give Damian a new lesson.

How to kill a person.

Damian lifted the sword slowly, almost hesitantly, as his mother gently encouraged him in the background. He gripped the familiar cool handle, trying to transport himself back to one of his old training exercises. He tried to imagine a dummy in front of him, not his weeping art instructor. Anything but her.

_Why was this so hard to do?_

His hands just barely shook as he brought the sword's tip to the woman's throat, resting it lightly against her jugular vein. She trembled so violently that Damian could feel the shock waves traveling up to his arm.

This would have been so much easier if she wasn't staring straight at him with those fear filled eyes.

Slowly, he let his sword glide over her delicate throat. He could feel each movement of his arm, each cut he made in her. Worse yet was her muffled screaming into the gag. It was scratchy and desperate, like an animal being stabbed through the stomach. A sound he knew well. Except the sound of a human being stabbed was worse, somehow. More guttural. Even through the gag, it made his ears ring painfully.

One more twinge of his blade and her cries were silenced for good.

He watched in a haze as she fell to the ground. Blood spilled from her neck like a fountain and leaked out onto the sand. Her eyes were wide and glassy, glazed over with the fear she was feeling as Damian ended her life. Everything about her was still. So still.

Damian couldn't stop staring at her.

Even as his mother put a hand on his shoulder and congratulated him on his accomplishment, he could not bring himself to tear his gaze away and follow her back inside the compound. He stayed there, staring at his old teacher. Staring at the life he had just ended. He thought it was all a game, a challenge. But this… This was different. So much different. He didn't know what to think.

_What just happened?_

Unable to face what he had done anymore, he turned away. He stomach lurched and bubbled painfully, and he ended up throwing up his lunch into the sand, hacking and gasping for breath.

_Maybe it gets easier_, he thought desperately.

Quickly, he wiped his mouth clean of bile and rose from the sand, following his mother inside the compound on wobbly legs, not daring to look back.

Eventually, it would get easier.

But Damian would never forget his first kill.

The end of whatever semblance he had to a childhood.

The end of innocence and games.

And the beginning of his life as a hardened killer.

* * *

**A/N: NOOOO, MY BABY!**

**He breaks my heart sometimes.**

**Also, guys, I had a few prompt ideas...****I want you guys to tell me if you like any of them:**

**Prompt #1: Dick and Damian songfic to the song 'Til Him' from the musical 'The Producers' (if you have never heard of this song, I suggest you look it up because it is perfect for those two)**

**Prompt #2: Damian getting de-aged on patrol (done before, but fun to read)**

**Prompt #3: A fem!Damian AU where the teenaged Damian (or whatever the frick I would decide to name female Dami) falls for one of the ex Boy Wonders (I'm making this up as I go, people)**

**Prompt #4: Damian and Bruce have their first real conversation since Bruce came back from the 'dead'**

**Tell me if you like any of these and feel free to give me some prompts of your own!**


	6. Til Him

**A/N: I'm back!**

**So, last time, I asked you guys to tell me what prompts you liked.**

**I basically got people for every single prompt, so I decided 'why not go down the list'?**

**I also got some good prompt suggestions, which I might be using. :)**

**So this is prompt #1: A Damian and Dick songfic to the song 'Til Him' from The Producers.**

**I decided on this after seeing a video of Mel Brooks (writer of said song and a very good amount of movies) being honored at the Kennedy Center, with the performance being people singing songs from his movies. This was the ending song and the one during which everyone came out and sang the ending line to him as a way to honor him. When I heard it, I thought of Damian and Dick. It seems to describe how Damian feels about Dick. Dick really brought out the best in him.**

**So if you really want to capture the essence of this song's emotion here, I would look up 'Mel Brooks Kennedy Center honor' and skip towards the end of the video when Matthew Broderick comes out.**

_**Oh my god, 'essence of the song's emotion', I am such a theatre person, I apologize if I sound pretentious-**_

**I'm just gonna stop while I'm ahead and tell you to read the story.**

* * *

Damian rips a page off his notepad, crumbling into a ball in his hands and carelessly tossing it behind him so it lands in his trash can.

Garbage.

Utter garbage.

Sharpening his pencil, Damian goes back to work, writing on the pad of paper with a renewed aggressiveness. His pencil makes dents in the soft material as he presses down hard, writing in his neat cursive lettering. He has to get it right this time. This is his 8th try after all. Any more attempts and this will just be ridiculous. For some reason, the words floating around in his mind never translate well onto paper.

See? This is why he sticks to sketching. Drawing is much easier than writing. At least drawing involves some structure. At least it has an end result that Damian is trying to achieve. But writing is so much different. Damian doesn't know _what _he's trying to achieve. Logically, he knows why he's bothering to undertake this ridiculous task. But he doesn't know what it is he's writing, or even how to write.

He just thought he'd improvise.

Looking down at what he's just written, Damian shakes his head yet again.

_Trash._

His fingers curl around the edge of the notepad in preparation to rip the page off and throw it into the trash with the others, but he stops short when he hears his door creaking open. His very first instinct is to fling the notepad across the room, towards his bed and out of sight of the doorway.

So that's exactly what he does.

Reclining in his chair and facing the door, Damian acts as casual and relaxed as possible, if not a little annoyed at someone entering his room without knocking first. He gets such little privacy in this house. If he was only allowed to install a lock on his door, then he wouldn't have this problem.

Of course, it's Grayson who comes in, looking bright and cheery as usual, but with an extra spring in his step today. Damian should have guessed. If anyone would totally disregard Damian's privacy and personal space, it would be Grayson.

That meddling idiot.

Damian crosses his arms over his chest defiantly as Grayson approaches him, messing up his coal black hair playfully. Damian growls at him slightly like an angry little kitten that had a bucket of water poured on its head. Grayson just laughs, finding Damian's angry face adorable. Damian has never understood that. No matter what he does, Grayson finds it 'cute', like one would find a toddler to be.

"Hey, Little D!" Grayson exclaims with his usual happy-go-lucky attitude. "When are you gonna get out of your little cave here and come downstairs with the rest of the family? We're gonna eat the cake soon."

"*Tt*," Damian clicks. "My room is not comparable to a cave, first of all. And second of all, I will be downstairs after I finish the present I have so graciously decided to give you."

At this, Grayson's bright blue eyes light up, somehow becoming even brighter. Damian didn't think that was even possible, but somehow the mention of a present from his bullheaded little brother has made him even happier.

Damian feels a twinge in his gut. He's not sure if there _will _be a present with how badly he's doing so far. He doesn't understand. Grayson's given him so much. Why is it so hard for him to give something back?

"You're making me something?" he asks with genuine surprise lacing his voice. "What'd ya make? Can you give me a hint?" Damian gives him a curt shake of the head, waiting for him to leave. He doesn't want Grayson to see his pathetic attempts from earlier. He doesn't want his former mentor to know how incompetent he is with such a simple task.

He can't let Grayson down on his birthday of all days.

"Yes, I am," he admits. "Now leave my room before I change my mind."

Grayson gives him his signature pout and puppy dog eyes in an effort to change his mind. Father swears that the puppy dog eyes are enough to sway even the most obstinate opponent into submission. That's probably why Father flees the room whenever there's the immediate threat of being exposed to Grayson's watery baby blues.

Damian, however, remains unmoved by Grayson's tactics. He crosses his arms over his chest and gives his older brother one more annoyed, possibly homicidal look.

"Get out, Grayson," he demands, pointing to the door. "I'm not telling you what it is."

It seems to work when Grayson turns around, slumping his shoulders in defeat and looking at the ground like a scorned child.

"Fine…" he mumbles, beginning the slow trek to the door. Damian smiles in triumph and begins to calculate how much time he has to rewrite Grayson's present. Maybe he'll abandon his efforts and sneak out to go buy him something from the local mall. It's a lucky thing he bought himself some more time.

At least, he _thought _he had more time. Until Grayson accidentally steps on one of his failed projects. Looking down at the ground near the trashcan, Grayson sees all the haphazardly thrown paper balls littering both the ground and overflowing the small trashcan. Looking back from the trashcan to Damian, a realization dawns on him as a smile curls onto his lips.

"You're writing me something, aren't you, Dami?"

Damian internally panics. What should he say? _'I was writing you something but all my attempts were terrible failures that you'd never want to read'_?

"I don't know what you're referring to, Grayson," he answers through gritted teeth.

Grayson's eyes dart around the room, looking for god knows what. Finally, his eyes settle on one spot, and a devious grin graces his face. Damian follows his gaze and finds his eyes have landed on his bed.

On the spot where he threw the notepad.

The boys make eye contact for a split second, a challenge between them to beat the other to the notepad. They narrow their eyes simultaneously. Both Grayson and Damian lunge for the bed at the same time.

The acrobat has the advantage.

Snatching the notepad up swiftly, he holds it up out of Damian's reach. But Damian doesn't let it go without a fight. He desperately kicks at Grayson's legs and climbs on him like a little monkey, trying to get the notepad back. His last attempt at a gift was a joke. A failure. A waste. Not a proper present at all. He can't let Grayson see it.

He wouldn't be able to stand the look of disappointment on his face.

"Give it back right this second, Grayson! I'll rip your limbs off as slowly as humanly possible if you do not relinquish that notepad to me right this instant!"

Grayson simply rolls his eyes and keeps Damian at bay with his leg, holding the notepad up to read it at the same time. Though the position looks uncomfortable to say the least, the acrobat is not complaining.

Damian bites his lip nervously as Grayson's eyes scan the page. He's going to hate it. Damian just knows it. He's failed. What kind of brother can't make a simple birthday gift correctly?

Dick reads the poem out loud,

'_No one ever made me feel like someone_

'_Til him_

_Life was really nothing but a glum one_

'_Til him_

_My existence bordered on the tragic_

_Always timid, never took a chance_

_Then I felt his magic and my heart began to dance_

_I was always frightened, fraught with worry_

'_Til him_

_I was going nowhere in a hurry_

'_Til him_

_He filled up my empty life_

_Filled it to the brim_

_There will never ever be another one like him'_

Damian looks down, taking a sudden interest in his bed sheets. He doesn't want to see Grayson's reaction to his pathetic poem. All the things he said in the poem were true; he was so scared of rejection and of himself before he met Grayson. He was scared of this new world he was thrust into, though he hid that underneath a confident façade. But Grayson saw right through it. He saw the little boy underneath who was scared and just wanted approval. And for the first time in his life, Damian felt like someone noticed him.

But that doesn't make the poem he made any less terrible.

What must Grayson think of him now? He can't even make a birthday present correctly. He can't seem to do _anything _correctly.

Damian's taken completely by surprise when he's wrapped up in Grayson's tight embrace, being squeezed in one of his death-grip hugs. Struggling to wiggle into a position where he can catch his breath, Damian wraps his arms around Grayson's neck in confusion.

"Why are you hugging me?" he asks. "Did I not disappoint you with my pathetic attempts at affection?"

Grayson laughs and nuzzles Damian's hair, rubbing his back all while maintaining the tight hug.

"You didn't disappoint me," he insists. "That was a lovely poem. I can see you put a lot of effort into it, and I love it. No one's ever given me something so heart-felt before. And the fact that it comes from you just makes it that much sweeter."

Pride swells up in Damian's chest, despite the voice in his head telling him that a compliment from Grayson is nothing to get excited about. He can't help it. Whenever Grayson shows pride in him, he feels happy. Content.

The poem he wrote _did _come from the heart. He just assumed Grayson wouldn't care about that. He assumed it was awful. But to hear Grayson understands the message Damian was trying to convey with his words…

It makes him feel accomplished.

Grayson always has a way of making him feel accomplished, like a star student.

"Happy birthday, Grayson," Damian mutters into his old mentor's shoulder, hugging back with all his might. Grayson gives him a squeeze and kisses the side of his head gently.

"Thank you, baby bat," he whispers.

"This was officially the best birthday ever."

* * *

**A/N: Feel free to ignore all my instructions above.**

**Well, I'm tired and I _really _want to go to bed.**

**So goodnight! :)**


	7. Talk

**A/N: I'm sorry this took so long. I've been kind of busy lately. And if any of you are doing NaNoWriMo this month... You know how busy I'm going to be in the coming weeks.**

**So this is prompt #4, I believe: Damian and Bruce have their first real talk since Bruce came back from the dead. It's kind of short and I took it more as an opportunity to dissect their relationship than anything else (I'm really into psychology), but I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

The cool, cobalt blue eyes belonging to Bruce Wayne alternate between absent-mindedly scanning the newspaper in his hands and casting surreptitious glances over at his 10 year-old son sitting on the couch across from him and pretending to be absorbed in his iPod.

Damian Wayne is almost an exact replica of his father; the same coal black hair, the same deep blue eyes, and the same quiet intensity that seems to radiate off him in waves. But in so many ways, he's the exact opposite. Damian is reckless, hostile, arrogant, and largely unapproachable.

At least, unapproachable to Bruce.

He doesn't even know where to begin when it comes to talking to his son. The two have been on shaky ground since Bruce popped back into his life from the 'dead'. He doesn't even remember the two actually having a real conversation since he came back – at least not one that doesn't consist of a mumbled 'good morning' and mundane attempts at small talk that always seem to fall flat and feel awkward. The two have never really _talked._

Not like Damian and Dick talk.

Bruce shakes off the sudden and intense feeling of jealousy he gets from that thought. He's being ridiculous, he knows. But that doesn't stop him from secretly envying Dick and Damian's strong bond. Dick makes it look so _easy_. He's such a natural at getting the angry little boy to open up and drop his defenses. Bruce's weak attempts at bonding only put him further on edge.

He's a stranger to his own son.

And if he's being completely honest here, his own son is a stranger to him too.

Setting the paper down beside him, Bruce looks straight at Damian, who's still putting up the act of being too busy with his iPod to notice his father's gaze. Bruce has had about enough with dancing around. He prefers a direct approach.

"Damian?" he asks, trying to mask the hesitation in his tone.

Damian immediately looks up from his iPod, tugging the earbuds out of his ears and shoving them in the pocket of his hoodie with some irritation.

"Yes?" he responds, his voice and expression void of all emotion.

For once in his life, Bruce has no idea what he's doing or what he's trying to accomplish. He didn't speak with the intention of taking this conversation anywhere, at least not really. He just spoke to break the tense, non-verbal standoff between the two. He's making this all up as he goes along.

What a sight to see; the great and powerful Batman is without a plan.

"How was your day?" Bruce asks, his tone strained. He hopes that his son doesn't pick up on it, which is nearly impossible with how observant the boy is. He doesn't want to make things even tenser between the two of them, if that's even possible.

Damian tilts his head curiously, as if he thinks he must have heard wrong.

"Fine… Why do you ask?"

The question catches Bruce off guard. Why _did _he ask?

"I have to have a reason for asking my son how his day is going?" he replies a tad bit defensively. Damian maintains a suspicious, guarded expression, narrowing his eyes at his father.

"-Tt-. You've never asked before," Damian points out. "I see no reason for you to start now, unless you have some sort of ulterior motive. So out with it. I don't do well with dancing around."

He really _is _his father's son.

Bruce internally groans, wondering why he even bothered in the first place. He should have expected this combative response. This is the most he's talked to Damian in… well, _ever_. And Damian doesn't trust easily. Bruce knows he didn't exactly help that by leaving Damian's life after barely getting to know him. Trying to engage him in conversation was a futile effort.

But still, he doesn't give up on his stubborn son easily.

"Fine," he admits. "I _do _have a motive. I was thinking that maybe… You and I…"

He swallows hard. Why is this so difficult? He's stared down opponents twice his size, yet it's a ten year old boy who brings him to his knees.

"Maybe we could… spend the day together. Just you and me."

At this, the stubborn black haired boy raises his eyebrows like Bruce has just made a joke that fell flat. He does not look the least bit impressed with his father's attempts, leaving Bruce to wonder what it is he did wrong.

"Doing _what_?" he asks. Again, his tone is causal. Bored. Like he'd rather be doing anything besides talking to his father. It stings Bruce a little more than he'd like to admit. He didn't expect Damian to look thrilled at talking to him, but anything would be better than this.

"I don't know. What do you and Dick do when you two spend time together?"

Bruce knows he said the wrong thing when Damian tenses up, as if he's just been insulted.

"Don't do that," Damian hisses. Bruce is taken aback by the malice in Damian's tone. It's practically dripping from his words, and Bruce has no idea what brought it on. Damian is usually unpredictable this way.

"Do what?" he asks, now genuinely curious.

"I know what you're trying to do," Damian replies in an accusatory tone. "Don't spend time with me just to feed your petty desire to one-up Grayson for the position of my favorite. I'm not some trophy to be won."

Bruce frowns deeply at the accusation. He may be a bit envious of Dick and Damian's close relationship, but he'd never do _that_.

At least, he doesn't _think _that's what he's doing.

"I'm not trying to 'one-up' him, Damian," Bruce reassures. "I'm secure enough to know that I am your father and I do not have competition in that role."

Damian snorts and rolls his eyes, giving Bruce the same bored and unimpressed expression that makes him want to throttle the boy. He absolutely _can't_ _stand _that look.

"Oh really? Because from what I've been informed, a 'father' is a man who raises you, and I could have sworn that Grayson was the one who took that role upon himself."

That comment makes something ache deep inside Bruce's chest, like someone took a knife to his chest and twisted it. The worst part about it? He can't refute that claim. It's completely true. Dick took it upon himself to raise Damian when Bruce 'died'. It's been Dick as Damian's caregiver more often than not, while Bruce has dropped in and out of his life. Damian's dig is spot on.

The truth hurts.

"I never meant for any of this to happen…" Bruce begins, unsure of how to respond to the scathing insult.

"Well, it did," Damian interrupts. "And you're not allowed to just…"

He trails off and shakes his head, as if it isn't even worth it. But Bruce's curiosity is peaked, and even though he's sure he's going to be insulted again, he wants to know what Damian was going to say. He wants to know what his son _really _thinks of him.

"I'm not allowed to do _what_?"

And oh, was that the wrong thing to say.

It's like his words flip a switch in Damian, igniting a fury behind his eyes, the proportions of which Bruce has never seen before. His tone is biting and acidic as he spits out,

"You're not allowed to drop into my life, make me care about you, and then leave at your leisure. It's not right. It's not _fair_."

For a long second, Bruce remains completely silent, letting the words sink in and ring around in his head. Damian let his age show in his last sentence, sounding more like the sad little ten year old he's supposed to be than the jaded child he is. Guilt overcomes him, shaking him to his core as he berates himself over his many shortcomings when it comes to the boy.

Damian had already been abandoned by his mother to live in a world he hardly understood or fit into, and then to make matters worse, Bruce left him without a father as well, leaving it up to Dick to raise a now practically orphaned Damian. Bruce left emotional destruction for the little boy in his wake. What kind of father has he been to his son?

Not one at all, as Damian has so kindly pointed out.

"I'm sorry," Bruce tells him sincerely, placing a hand on his shoulder. "It isn't fair to you. I haven't been much of a father to you at all. I promise that I'll try harder to communicate."

Damian stares at him for what feels to be hours, that same frustratingly unreadable expression sweeping over his face, like he's considering whether or not to accept Bruce's apology. The two sit in suffocating silence for a few more moments before Damian finally decides to end their standoff.

"I suppose it's not _entirely _your fault…" he admits. Bruce resists the urge to snort. Damian sounds almost pained to admit that he shares some of the blame for their strained relationship. He hates admitting _any _fault. Bruce can relate. Like father, like son.

"Can we agree to meet somewhere in the middle?" Bruce asks. It's not perfect, but it's something. And that's good enough for him.

Damian nods curtly, sinking further into the couch with his arms crossed. It's comical, seeing his little body snuggly sunk into the fluffy couch. He's trying so hard to be an adult about this, even though his age has only just hit double digits. Bruce can't remember a time when Damian has _ever _acted like a kid. It's saddening, really. That chance was stolen from him, and Bruce wants to give it back to him. But that's hard to do when the two never spend any time together.

"So…" Damian speaks up, breaking Bruce out of his thoughts. He looks up at his father hesitantly, playing with his hands, like he's too embarrassed to look into his eyes.

"Is it too late to accept your offer of spending the day together?"

Bruce cracks a smile.

"It's never too late."

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**A/N: This took me forever solely based on the fact that I didn't touch it for weeks. Oops!**

**Anyways, I'll try to get the next chapter up faster. :)**


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